An Angry Spirit
Connie’s clawed hands trembled a little more when the ringing of breaking glass faded away.
Shards of broken glass, once in-tact cups, scattered themselves on the floor.
Connie levitated anyway. It wasn’t a problem.
Gigi warily stepped over the glass, sighing. She plops down next to Connie on the couch. “Should I assume that any ‘I’ll stop breaking my stuff’ promises from now on are completely dull and void?”
”Null and void,” Connie corrects. “And I can stop if I want to.”
”You know, like, everyone says that about everything.” Gigi narrows her eyes.
”Do my eyes look red to you?” Connie raises an eyebrow.
”Yes.”
Connie pauses. “Let me rephrase. Do I look high to you?” Gigi shakes her head. “Exactly. I’m not doing drugs, I’m handling emotions.” Connie grins.
”You need to handle the broken glass hazard in your room.” Gigi counters. “Maybe Tisha needs to do more than help you decorate when it comes to your room.”
“Tisha’s got her own problems, and I’ve got my own problems.” Connie scowls.
“Everyone’s got their own problems!” Gigi rolls her eyes. “I don’t feel great, but I still come by to pester you about this, don’t I?” Gigi pokes Connie’s chest a few times. “It’s not. The problems. That matter.”
Connie grumbles, her fingers digging harshly into the couch. Gigi places her hand over Connie’s, frowning. “Just…Please get help…If not for your emotional tantrums, just get someone to help you clean this up.”
Connie looked away. Seeing Gigi get so serious always caught the ghost by surprise.
Connie sighs after a minute, looking into her lap. “…Okay.”